Ducie by Chris Freeman
Chapter 33. Plan B
Her brown woodbound storage trunk had definitely seen better days.
As she loaded the last of the trinkets and ornaments into the decrepit old suitcase and prepared for the exhausting slog of dragging it home, the tiredness consumed Daniella in a way that seemed to put a layer of invisible fog between her and the real world. The sound of friends bidding goodbye to one another, the clatter of canopy frames being collapsed for the night and the whisper of the evening wind all seemed to be reaching her through a thick layer of cotton wool. Muffled, tired interpretations of otherwise ordinary sounds. The thought of a warm bath and the sweet, comforting smell of her Mother’s carbonanda stew seemed an impossible fantasy. Twenty minutes though, and she’d be there. Only one of the two gold clasps on the old trunk still worked. She clicked it shut, took the handle and began the trek across the market square towards the shops behind the clock tower. She passed Fortunato’s café, which was now quiet and in the confusing no-man’s-land somewhere between late afternoon and early evening. Three old men drank wine and perched on barstools, debating something with slapstick enthusiasm; probably nothing worth debating at all, yet a part of Daniella was intrigued to know what it was. The rest of the shop was deserted now. She peered through the window and picked out the table where she had sat with Frank and Harrison two days earlier; now unoccupied.
In the two days since she’d met with Frank and Harrison, Daniella hadn’t told a soul about their encounter. When she walked away from them at café that day, she’d gone back to her store and done her very best to forget about the whole episode. Daniella’s world was a simple one. A world where trust and happiness reigned supreme. The very idea of something complex; something unusual and sinister that Frank’s Dictaphone had presented her with, was like a herd of elephants invading the quaint, simplistic tea party that was her life. She’d been intrigued at first, swept along by the innocent curiosity of a small child exploring the world around her. But when she heard Kate Gaffney…. a girl from England that she’d never met, speaking her name with such cold certainty on the tape, well then….then it felt personal. Her Mother had been in a narky mood that night when she got home, complaining as she often did about everything from the state of her floor to the state of the country; usually without pausing to separate the two subjects. It just didn’t seem like the time to bother her. So Daniella compartmentalised it; wrapping up the whole incident in a cute little package and popping it in the section of her mind marked, “not worth bothering anyone about”. Then on went the smile, that smile…. and her wonderfully clear-cut life continued.
Frank and Harrison had already decided the spot they would snatch her from. They’d spent the previous two days getting familiar with her route home from the market, since she’d deserted them at Fortunato’s after the whole Dictaphone disaster. I suppose the actual spot they took her from didn’t matter too much, as long as they could get her in the car quickly enough and without anyone seeing. Harrison’s brawn would be more than enough to keep her restrained enough to slip her the pill.
Frank looked at the tiny half-pink, half-red capsule of Palcranolol in his hand. Such an insignificant little thing to look at, but unlike the other weapon at Frank’s disposal, Harrison Morgan, the pill’s strength came from within, not from size or muscle.
Sat inside the silver Renault Kangoo hire-car, Harrison’s hands banged a rhythmic beat on the plastic dashboard. Habits like this usually irritated Frank, especially habits that belonged to Harrison, whose company was slowly starting to drain him. Much as he hated to admit it though, Flex’s stickless drumming was impressive. A lively pattern with subtle little accents on the offbeat. Too quick to be reggae. Perhaps ska or something. Impressive though. He listened a while, as Harrison drummed out the theme tune, to the coming drama.
- Will you knock that racket on the head now?
The suck of the teeth.
- Tis my way of releasing ten-shiorn, Frankie.
- Tension? I thought you Jamaicans were meant to be laid-back sort of folk. Like on the Malibu adverts.
Harrison didn’t resent the stereotype, but was more put out by Frank’s general mardiness.
- Us Jam-ayer-cans still get a lickle tetchy when we aboot to stuff a woman into a car and feed her up widda pill dat no man never erd of.
- What do you mean, no man’s ever heard of it? You and I both know what the pill does and we both know it’s the only way we have left of getting her to come back home with us.
- I-man didn’t ave t’come ere widyoo, y’know Frankie. So ya stop widda big-boss-man ting, sight?
- You didn’t have to come with me, but you did. I don’t know whether it was for a free holiday or on the off chance you’d get a slice of the glory, but since you’re here, you may as well play house with the plan or we’re both going to end up in the shit.
Frank only caught the word ‘dollar’ as Harrison mumbled something under his breath. It didn’t matter now….
- Here she comes!
Daniella looked more haggard and faded than Harrison had seen her before. Even under the deceiving combination of a dim sky and the occasional glare of a street lamp, the effects of a long day were evident on her face. Even that smile appeared to have gone home for the night, replaced instead by a battered look of fatigue. She crossed the road right beside their van, even glancing at them briefly, but seeing only her own reflection in the tinted side windows of the lifeless vehicle. Harrison made his move.
She was surprisingly feisty for a girl so small, but Harrison swept her into the van with relative ease as Frank held open the back doors, checking for watchers in the darkening streets around them. The kidnap routine hadn’t been rehearsed, but somehow they’d made it look smooth and synchronised. Hardly a sound was allowed to come from Daniella before Harrison straddled her on the hard wooden floor in the back of the van, Frank sliding her wooden trunk full of jangly market wares alongside them, before shutting the doors and returning to the driver’s seat.
Even during kidnap, Daniella somehow maintained a sort of dainty grace, flipping around like a caught fish, her mouth covered by Harrison’s huge, black hand. She murmured and groaned a little, but nothing erratic. No biting, no kicking, no real retaliation. It just wasn’t in her nature, even now. Her pretty green eyes bulged, her pupils dilated as they expanded and grew in an attempt to take in more visual data. More detail, more colour, anything that might yield a clue to what was happening to her. Confusion reigned. The van was dark, making the task of identifying her assailant almost impossible. Then she saw the pill.
Harrison kept his right hand pressed firmly down on Daniella’s mouth, whilst forcing the pill underneath it with two fingers of his left hand. The adrenaline dump inside Harrison threw his co-ordination off kilter and the resulting clumsiness caused him to force his fingers a little too far down Daniella’s throat. She gagged momentarily before he retrieved them quickly, a handful of stringy saliva for his troubles. The pill was in. He pushed his hand down harder onto Daniella’s mouth. She squirmed as the discomfort of his weight threatened to crack her cheek bones. A muffled scream that had an under-water quality to it barely even registered amongst the chaos of the van. The suspension squeaking at every bump, the engine revving, the clunk after clunk of struggling body parts thudding against the van’s perimeters.
Harrison locked his eyes on hers, continuing to push downwards, almost his entire weight now, close to reducing that delicate little face of hers to dust. He hated himself for it. He wanted to let go and cuddle her. Tell her to take the pill and everything would be ok. She wouldn’t understand though. He didn’t understand himself completely. But he trusted Frank. He pushed his face close to hers to get within a whispering earshot. Her eyes grew even wider now, whether from the pressure on her face or the fact that he was now close enough for her to recognise him as the man from Fortunato’s café two days earlier. The smell of his own stale breath intensified as it rebounded back off Daniella’s gorge
- Swallow the pill, darling!
Daniella stared wildly into his eyes. A look of submission overtaking her face. She knew there was no other way. His hand came down harder still Something would break soon. Her spirit, her face…Daniella swallowed.
Harrison eased the pressure off her mouth now, leaving his hand in place to stop any screaming before the pill took hold. It wouldn’t be long. He watched her drift, stroking her face as every bump in the road seemed to rock her further towards sleep. He was surprised at how quickly unconsciousness had grabbed her. He removed his jacket and propped it underneath her head as a pillow.
He looked up to the roof of the van and muttered a prayer that began, “Jah no judge…” before it trailed into incoherence and he began to sob.
Frank glanced back to Harrison from his driving position, barely batting an eyelid before turning back to concentrate on the road ahead. He never doubted that Harrison would take care of the task in hand and he knew the pill would take care of the rest. The sobbing though…. he hadn’t expected that from Harrison. Flex was human though, I suppose. He flicked his headlights on to full-beam, as they turned into an unlit lane. The hotel wasn’t far now. He pressed the play button on the CD player and eased the radio volume dial to the right slightly, as the sound of Frank Sinatra’s ‘At Long Last Love’ took over the van, causing Frank to tap a little beat of his own on the dashboard.